Jim's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
by Chiara da Luna
Summary: Twelve years after the last book, Jim is married to Trixie and running his boys' school. Dreams do come true, but sometimes they turn into nightmares. I wrote this story in response to some prompts in January from Jixemitri.


"Are you sure, Jim?" Trixie Belden Frayne stood halfway between her kitchen table and the door to the stairs, her baby son Winthrop Matthew in one arm, her phone in her other hand, her brief case slung over that shoulder. The unusual worry lines in her brow contrasted with her bouncy curls and dimples. "Julie-Kat, don't play with your pancake."

"Mommy, I am making art!" announced her outraged daughter. "I drawed a kitty with butter and syrup. It's a picture of No Mittens."

"A very nice kitty. It looks just like No Mittens," said Trixie, her eyes on her husband.

Jim Frayne smiled the same way he had for years, as soon as he figured out his next door neighbor was a very pretty girl, with the extra measure of delight that had been there since their wedding seven years ago. "Of course I'm sure. Moms needs you. A broken bone at her age could be serious, and you know she's going to be up and doing, if she's left alone. Are you saying I can't take care of my own children?"

Trixie answered with a reluctant grin. "Of course not, but you do have a job. I'll drop them off at Miss Lee's."

Jim shook his head as he held his arms out to Win. "They haven't finished breakfast, and you know how long it takes to get them ready to go anywhere. You go on to Moms. You probably have cases to work on too."

Trixie patted her briefcase and put her phone inside it. "Have laptop, can work anywhere. No one told me being a detective would mean so much time online."

"I have not finished my pancake," Julie announced.

"Let's try eating it instead of making art then," said Jim, blowing Trixie a kiss and then ruffling his daughter's strawberry-blonde curls, halfway in color between her mother's sandy curls and her father's flaming red hair.

"My kitty!" Julie wailed. "I have to show it to No Mittens first."

Jim and Trixie agreed that No Mittens was the best little girl's pet ever. Although Julie planned to name her new kitten Mittens, the one she picked out at the Sleepyside Animal Shelter was a teenage cat with solid white silky fur. Her one green eye and one blue eye gave her a crazed expression, but she adored Julie and slept with her every night. A one-person cat, she tolerated Trixie, avoided Win, and hated Jim and all other men, probably because she'd been abused by a man, the vet speculated as he bandaged his bitten finger. Remembering his own history, Jim had sympathy, except when No Mittens hid and attacked him. Daily.

Trixie sighed and aimed her phone camera at Julie's plate. "Okay, Julie-Kat, your kitty is preserved for eternity, or until Win drops my phone in the toilet again. I'll send it to Daddy's phone so you can show it to No Mittens. Be sure to help Daddy and Miss Lee while I'm helping Grandmoms. Bye-bye for now."

Win had happily climbed into Jim's arms, but at Trixie's words, he screamed, "No bye bye! No!"

Jim's green eyes met Trixie's wide blue ones with shared amused suffering. "Run!" he advised.

She tipped an imaginary hat to him and clattered down the stairs, several at a time.

Jim bounced his son and spoke soothing words, "Mommy will come back. We'll have fun till then. Go high?" He lifted Win to eye level and let him drop to waist level.

"High! High!" crowed Win.

Jim lifted him again, to hair level this time.

Julie called, "Daddy, cut my pancake please. But go around my kitty."

Jim tried to do both, shifting Win to one arm and bouncing him harder to make up for the lack of height. As Jim reached for Julie's fork, Win threw up over everyone. He and Julie burst into tears. Jim felt like it.

"Julie-Kat, can you run to the bathroom and bring me a towel? Then get your clothes off for a quick bath." When she'd left the room sobbing about the ick in her hair and the destruction of her art, Win subsided into low moans. Jim fished his phone from his pocket and punched Miss Lee's number.

"This is Jim. We'll be a bit late. Win just threw up, and they both need baths. We should be there within an hour."

"But Jim, I can't have them here if Win's throwing up," protested his sitter. "Any illness runs through the group like wildfire. You know that."

"But it was just because I was bouncing him. He's not sick," Jim said.

"You can't know that, Jim. Most childhood illnesses start with vomiting. I'm really sorry, but I can't take the chance. You wouldn't want me to take in someone else's possibly sick child."

Jim sighed. It didn't help that Miss Lee had been Trixie's Candy Striper supervisor at the hospital. "Of course not."

He hung up and took the towel from Julie, still sniffling and keening. "Let's get cleaned up. And guess what? You get to stay with me today. Fun, right?"

#

Sometime later, all clean in new clothes, the Fraynes descended the stairs, with Jim holding Win and Julie's hand. She gripped the banister legs with her other hand. Jim liked how he and Trixie had rebuilt Ten Acres, with his office and public rooms for Sleepyside Boys Home and the women teachers' rooms downstairs and his family's living space upstairs, but he'd be glad when the children were old enough that every trip down the stairs wasn't such a lip-biting adventure.

They'd rebuilt Ten Acres mostly according to its original plan, a box-like two story building with tall Doric columns on the front porch. But its jewel, in Jim's mind, was the three-story octagonal turret they'd added. The turret's first floor was Jim's office, windows on six of the eight sides, with a fireplace on one of the last sides. Because the house didn't face exactly towards Glen Road, he could see most of the school campus from his office. (And both the first and second floors had large picture windows on the back sides, giving the final view.) The second floor of the turret was Jim and Trixie's bedroom, also with the fireplace but half as many windows. It was, after all, New York, and it did get cold in the winter. The top floor, under the pointed witch's hat of a roof (with skylights) was their Dreaming Spire, their retreat from the world, where they lay on the open futon and whispered their hopes and dreams long into the night and a good many days. One of the first rooms finished in the house, it wasn't very decorative, and they'd retreated there almost every day with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine to talk about the house, the school, Trixie's detective agency, their family (present and future) and friends. Trixie was convinced their children were conceived there, and while Jim knew that statistically the children could have been conceived anywhere that had given them an hour's privacy, he liked the thought that they began in the Dreaming Spire. They'd certainly grown there, with Trixie lying on her back so they could watch her belly expand until her feet became mythological creatures, talked of but no longer seen, at least by Trixie. Now their picnic basket held baby monitors in addition to the snacks and wine, but the room was still their retreat from the world and door into the future. All these years later, the sight of a picnic basket with a bottle of wine protruding sent a jolt through Jim's body.

The stairs wound down the side of the turret and into a large foyer, where eight solemn brown faces, most of them resentful, turned up to him. A rush of memory smacked him. In the morning's adventures, he'd forgotten the new boys arriving today.

"I'm sorry. I hope you haven't been waiting long. My wife's mother broke her ankle, and it's derailed us this morning. This is my son Win and my daughter Julie. I'm Jim Frayne, head of the school."

"Juliana Katje," his daughter said with a glare. "Only my family can call me Julie."

"Hello, Jim, Win, and Juliana Katje," said one of the guests. He was slightly taller than the others, with a deeper voice and a calm expression. "Some of us have private names too. I am Al Mockta of the Hopi Nation, as are..." He introduced four boys as Hopi and three as Navajo.

Jim's heart sank to the basement (still unfinished, until such a time as they needed to expand). He'd worked hard to have Sleepyside Boys Home accepted among the First Nations. He'd hired Native teachers who could teach their languages and customs, but even the Iroquois in New York were reluctant to send their boys away, it being too much of a reminder of forced assimilation in boarding schools. Sometimes, though, the courts judged it best to remove boys from their old environments, to give them a fresh start. The Nations reluctantly agreed, but frequently inspected the school to make sure their children were being treated as they wanted. This was not the day he would have chosen to be inspected, formally or otherwise. Jim had first envisioned his school as an orphanage, but there was a greater need for troubled boys; orphans were more likely to be placed in foster homes, and boys like his didn't need to be with violent young criminals. He understood the need for oversight and bureaucracy, but there were times he felt strangled by them.

Mr. Mockta said as Jim led them to his office, "We were waiting only a few minutes. A young lady showed us the way to this office. I was surprised: she said she lived here, but I thought this school was for boys only."

Jim flushed as he settled Julie in the corner with a coloring book and plopped Win in a tiny playpen next to her. He gave an unnecessary glance out the window at the willowy girl waiting for the school bus at the end of the long driveway. As he pulled out chairs for everyone, he tried to remember the Hopi viewpoint. "The court didn't understand about Tanaquil. The name on her birth certificate is Thomas. She lives in the dorm with the female unmarried teachers. She says it's like having big sisters, which she likes most of the time. We thought it better for her to attend Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, where she could meet other girls her age. My sisters-in-law live nearby, and they've become good friends."

Merry and Cherry Lynch joined Tanny at the bus stop. Obviously they'd spent the night at Crabapple Farm. When Diana and Mart married, Helen Belden announced that they could have the farm; she was ready to move to town to a smaller house with-and this was the important part-no farm. Her surprised husband went along with it; his youngest son Robert also wanted to move near his friends. Diana's brothers and sisters liked to stay near their friends at Jim's school.

As he watched the three girls put their heads together and whisper, Jim waited for the axe of disapproval to fall. Most First Nations honored people like Tanny, but he couldn't remember if the Hopi were one of them. His luck so far today hadn't been good.

Instead the corners of Mr. Mockta's mouth turned up in a quicksilver smile. "So she is honored as a-I believe you call it-Two Spirit?"

"Yes." Jim thought he'd leave it at that. Really, his boys were very understanding. He shoved his papers around on his desk, looking for the speech he'd prepared with the help of Rosita Begay, his Native teacher from Arizona. He thought he did pretty well with the Navajo section, but as he reached the end of the Hopi version, Mr. Mockta's eyes popped wide, and his smile flittered across his face again. The Hopi boys grinned openly.

"Okay...I'm not sure what I said, but what I meant to say was 'Let's walk over to the long house and meet everyone.'" He punched his phone as the boys continued to snigger and nudge each other. "Rosita? I thought you were going to help me welcome the new boys."

Over the background of classroom noise, his teacher said, "And I would have been, if my assistant teacher had shown up this morning. Honey had an emergency at the clinic, and I can't leave the class alone."

"Well, bring them, but please come."

She and her class filled the office to the suffocation point. Amid the introductions, Jim pushed the speech towards her and repeated the last line in Hopi that he'd said.

She covered her mouth to hide laughter, but her eyes still danced. "You forgot the tones. Hopi is a tonal language, like Chinese, remember? Instead of inviting them to walk, you invited them to have sexual congress." She said the two words, to illustrate the difference.

Jim, his face flaming, couldn't hear it. Julie repeated one of the words-he couldn't tell which one.

Rosita approved. "Good! Can you say-" She repeated the whole sentence.

Julie stood up and recited. Everyone clapped. She turned to her father and said, "The other one's a bad word, Daddy. You mustn't say it."

"My five-year-old knows that?" Jim exclaimed under the laughter.

Rosita shrugged. "She knows not to say it."

Struggling against his embarrassment, Jim said, "Well then, let's all walk-"

The all-school fire alarm shrieked.

#

Win woke up crying at the siren. Jim picked him up and jiggled him-gently, this time. He took Julie's hand and smiled at her as he edged toward the east window, searching for the cause of the alarm. This wasn't a scheduled drill.

Boys poured out of the buildings. Some ran over to help Mrs. Vanderpoel down the steps of her house-mother's room. Others ran to another dorm to pick up Mr. Maypenny's wheelchair and carry it down the ramp, with him protesting all the way. Rosita asked her students to guide the new boys to their gathering place outside.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" asked Julie, tugging his hand.

"We're pretending there's a fire, so we know what to do if there's a real one. Like we practice what to do if you get lost." Even as he reassured her with a smile and steady voice, his eyes still scanned the campus for smoke. There! From the far south dorm, just a thread of smoke trickled out the open kitchen window. What a relief! That was Tad Webster's dorm. Tad would have everything under control.

He shook off Julie's tugging to answer his phone.

"Jim? Tad here. No worries. I was making breakfast and got a phone call. My French toast is flambé, but it's contained in the ruined skillet. You might want to call off the fire department."

Sirens howled from far down Glen Road.

Jim sighed. "Thanks. They're not going to turn back now."

"Daddy!" Julie jumped up to grab his arm. "If there's a fire, we have to get No Mittens out. She'll burn up!"

"We're just practicing, sweetie."

"But we have to practice getting No Mittens out!" Tears rolled down her cheeks.

She did have a point. Even now, boys were snapping leashes on the Sleepyside Animal Shelter dogs, and others were pushing the tall wheeled cat crates toward Glen Road. Jim's heart swelled with pride. His boys were doing such a good job with their miniature shelter, which took in the overflow from Sleepyside's downtown shelter. It was a good responsibility for them and a help to the city. Jim tapped Rosita on the shoulder and handed Win to her. "You go with Rosita, Julie, and I'll go get No Mittens."

Julie sobbed, "No! I have to go with you."

The Hopi inspector leaned down to say, "If you come outside with Rosita and me, we can watch your daddy through the windows. And I'll tell you my secret family name."

Julie let Rosita and Mr. Mockto lead her out, still crying as she craned her head over her shoulder. Jim bounded up the stairs, three at a time, and charged into Julie's bedroom, where her cat spent most of her time. But not now. Eventually he found her on the fresh laundry in the utility room-the dark clothes, naturally. Well, this would be easy, even without the carrier. He shoved the sleeping cat inside a forest green pillowcase, thus escaping with only three long scratches down the inside of his arm.

As he approached his daughter, he said with a forced smile, "Here's No Mittens, safe and sound."

"Daddy, she's really mad," said Julie, eyes wide at the sight of the thrashing, squalling pillowcase.

"It's just for a few minutes," Jim said. "I couldn't find her carrier."

"It's by my bed! I made it into a house."

"It's just for a few minutes," said Jim again, hoping in desperation that he spoke the truth.

He tightened his grip on the pillowcase as he caught sight of his brother-in-law Mart making his way from the Crabapple Farm henhouses. Mart had his dog Russet on a leash, but that didn't mean Russet was under control. Despite Mart's vows that this Irish Setter would have manners, Russet was as wild as his predecessor Reddy. He yanked Mart across the lawn like a cornhusk doll. With Russet's encouragement, the shelter dogs forgot their training. The bigger dogs pulled their small handlers toward Russet, and the small ones yipped and tangled their leashes around each other and their leaders. No Mittens screamed in fury. Jim bit his lips in pain as her claws came though the pillowcase and hooked in his stomach.

Tad met the firetruck at the end of the driveway and explained, but as Jim expected, they pulled in front of the house anyway.

"As long as we're out here, might as well do an in-service," said the captain with a grin. "We'd better inspect this dangerous toast too."

Rosita introduced the captain to the new boys as Jim limped back in the house. The last words Jim heard were, "Have you ever thought about a career in..."

No Mittens shredded his arm one last time before dashing back to Julie's room. He grabbed a paper towel to dab off the blood. He closed his eyes and longed for the sanctuary of the Dreaming Spire. And a bottle of wine, with or without Trixie. But he was Jim Frayne, so he went back down the stairs. He pulled out his phone and pressed a number.

"Mother, I'm in a bind here. Could you take Julie and Win for a few hours?"

"You've clearly confused me with their other grandmother," said Madeleine Wheeler, sounding rushed. "Or do you think I never do anything all day long?"

Jim felt like shouting, but he kept his voice calm. "I know you do lots of things. I was asking if you had the time. Helen can't; she's broken her ankle. Trixie's gone to take care of her, and Miss Lee wouldn't take the kids today because Win threw up."

"He's sick?"

"No. I was bouncing him, and he'd just had breakfast. I wouldn't ask, but I've got an inspector from the Hopi Nation here." Now outside, Jim forced a smile at the inspector leading Julie to him.

After a few ticks of silence, Madeleine said, "I'm on my way to a board meeting, but I could pick them up after lunch."

"Wonderful. And have you had a chance to arrange that trip to opera?"

"Jim Frayne, if you want to have a field trip to New York City in the late winter slush, all I can say is that I don't. I have talked to the administration, and we've selected a Saturday matinee in late April."

"You're right. April will be much better. Thank you very much." He hung up and squatted down so that Julie could throw her arms around his neck. He inhaled her soapy-clean little girl scent and hugged her tight.

Mr. Mockta said, "A demonstration of how to handle a kitchen fire turned into a demonstration of how to cook French toast by Mrs. Vanderpoel in the longhouse, and everyone is enjoying the results. The fire captain has recruited several of my boys to help out at the fire station. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, everyone does community service and career exploration. Working at the fire department counts as both. I'll go over that in orientation."

"I believe Ms Rosita is going to do that while everyone has their snack. Your longhouse looks authentically Iroquois to me."

"It is, I believe. Well, within modern code and comfort. We have doors on the ends and bigger, covered skylights. Also heating and cooling. The Oneida designed it and helped us build it. The boys did most of the work." Jim worried whether the modern updating was a point against the school. He was mention the exhibit that the boys were building for the Sleepyside Fine Arts Museum, where they were going to use more authentic methods, but his guest interrupted his thoughts.

"Impressive. When do you offer academic subjects?"

Jim cringed inside. Half the morning was gone, and Mr. Mockta hadn't seen anyone crack a book. "Usually we do a few hours in the morning, but much of our classroom work is done in the afternoon and evening. Many of our teachers also teach at local schools or have other jobs. We have only a few full-time instructors like Rosita." He pushed open the longhouse door.

Boys and fire fighters munched on French toast while Rosita said, "I grew up in my grandmother's sheep camp until my father was successful enough with his jewelry to move us to the city. Despite that, we were traditional Navajos. I had my kinalda at age twelve, and everyone said I ran further than any other girl in my clan. So it didn't surprise anyone when I became an airline stewardess and flew all over the world. But I missed the Navajo way of life, and I went back home. But I found I didn't fit in the sheep camp or the jewelry store any more either. So when my old friend Jim Frayne asked me to help him create a Navajo space in his school, I jumped at the chance, because that's what I was trying to figure out: how to be a Navajo outside of Arizona, to walk in beauty wherever I was, whatever my circumstances."

Jim smiled. It was a great speech. He'd heard her give it in many forms, before many audiences. Her determination to cling to her nation's ways had helped him win over other nations and bring their members in as teachers. Certain that she was working her magic again, he glanced at Mr. Mockta.

The man was frowning.

#

Jim couldn't imagine what anyone could object to in Rosita's speech, but it suddenly struck him that Rosita had been holding Win, and now she wasn't. He looked around the long hall and spotted his son seated between several older boys, who were feeding him French toast strips faster than Win could gobble them-but he was trying, shoving one stick in his mouth before he finished the other. They, in turn, were trying to show him how to dip the strips in syrup and powdered sugar. Win seemed to be finger painting with the syrup and slapping his hands with glee in the powdered sugar, making everybody nearby sneeze as the white powder bloomed in the air. A good time was being had by all, but Jim removed his son as quietly as possible.

"And he's wet, Mr. Jim," whispered one of the boys with a grin.

"I'd better take care of that then," said Jim. "Unless you'd like to help?"

As expected, he got no takers, except for Julie, trotting behind him with two toast sticks in each hand.

Though he worried about what Mr. Mockta was seeing and thinking, it was a relief to be alone with just his children for a minute. Win needed a full bath and new clothes, but Jim was happy to see what a neat eater Julie had become: only her hands and face needed attention. While Jim was bathing Win, Julie found a big bag of Cheetos. By the time Jim got to her, she had a heavy layer of white powdered sugar and orange cheese dust stuck together with maple syrup, but it all came off easily with a wet washcloth, hiding the evidence, Jim hoped.

"So I guess you're not hungry for lunch, are you, Julie-Kat?" he asked, with a last swipe.

"A Twinkie for dessert?" she asked.

"Sure," Jim agreed with silent apologies to his wife, her mother, both his mothers, and the school medical team of Dr. Brian and Nurse Honey. It wasn't like Julie ate that way every day.

After packing for both children's needs (with a late lunch of peanut butter and apple slices for Julie, along with her white stuffed cat because No Mittens couldn't come), Jim descended the stairs with a heavy sigh of relief and returned to his office. When he saw his mother walk through the front door, he broke out in a crazy grin. "Mother! I've never been happier to see anyone!" he exclaimed, forgetting Trixie and picnic baskets and bottles of wine.

"I could probably prove you wrong, but I'll accept that for now," said Madeleine Wheeler as she presented her cheek for a kiss.

He kissed her and hung the bag on her shoulder. "I packed everything I could think of, enough for a week probably."

"In your dreams, Jim. Come to Grandmother, Winny Matt," she cooed.

As Jim handed him over, the baby answered her with a smile, chirrups, and a long, loud fanfare from his diaper.

Madeleine laughed and handed him back to Jim. "Not quite ready, are we?"

Jim whipped out a changing pad on his desk and set to work.

"Ew, he stinks," commented Julie, moving to the bench near the front door. She opened her book and recited the text in a sing-song whisper. "In the great green room. There was a telephone..."

Jim privately agreed, but he held on to the hope that Win didn't need another bath, even if he needed half a box of wipes.

Of course, Mr. Mockta walked in at that point with folders of paperwork.

Of course.

Jim made introductions as he folded up the used wipes and diaper into a bag. It was a successful change: Win hadn't needed a bath and he hadn't squirted Jim in the face. Jim handed his son back to his mother as she turned on the full Madeleine Wheeler charm. As he took the mess into another room to throw away, Madeleine invited their guest to speak to the Boys Home Auxiliary that she headed. Jim wouldn't be surprised if the inspector ended up writing a donation check.

"Frankly, Mr. Mockta, we could write a check for whatever Jim needs, but the problem with that is (1) he wouldn't accept it and (2) we want Sleepyside to feel like this is their school too." She flashed her dazzling smile.

"Many communities wouldn't want such a place in their backyards," Mr. Mockta said.

Madeleine gave her silvery laugh. "The homes that truly have it in their backyards all belong to Jim's high school friends, who even then pledged to support it and work for him. And further down Glen Road are people who've known Jim since those days and rely on him and his boys to weatherize, repair, and remodel their houses for energy efficiency and accessibility. All the local charities know they can count on Jim's boys to volunteer for any event they put on. Truly, these young men don't have time to get into mischief: if they're not growing, catching, or cooking their food, they're building or volunteering."

Jim couldn't tell if his mother was impressing the inspector, but he was at least polite. When she had shepherded Julie out the door (still inviting him to come speak to her Auxiliary), Mr. Mockta provided an update on the new students.

"They have put away their luggage and are now going with some of your students to the horse barn and then to the lake to fish for their evening meal." The man flashed his quick smile. "They were thrilled that they would have access to horses. Sheep, no. 'I go all the way across the country and I'm still in a sheep camp?' one of the Navajos said. The Hopi are complaining about still having to farm."

Jim answered his smile. "I'd hardly call five sheep a camp, even if you count the three pygmy goats."

"For some, one sheep would be too many. And corn is still corn."

"I didn't like all my high school chores either." Jim chuckled as he glanced out the window. He could see Mart working in his cold frames along the border between Crabapple Farm and Ten Acres, tending infant plants to encourage early crops, with his dog Russet tethered nearby. Mart kept up an IT business and wrote freelance articles while he worked on a novel-and taught at the school-but Jim never saw him as happy as when he was trying to grow things. He'd built the cold frames, wooden boxes near the ground with windows, to get a jump on the growing season that cautioned against planting before Memorial Day. Mart didn't mind waiting with baited breath in hopes that a late snow wouldn't freeze all his efforts.

A group of boys crossed in front of Mart on the bridle path, the new boys following those who'd been at the school longer. Jim frowned. The mentors were some of the younger, newer school residents. He dismissed his fears: Bill Regan still ruled the Wheeler stables as a benevolent dictator, and the lake wasn't deep enough for them to get in much trouble. Jim decided to take a walk that way in a little while.

He tried not to sigh as he looked at the seven folders that Mr. Mockta placed in front of him. Each one a tragedy, each one his responsibility to lead to a happier path. Seven at once! Usually boys wandered into his care one or two at a time. He felt a great weight on his shoulders and chest, but he opened the first file with his jaw set like a rock, the way he always faced up to life. He said, with shamefaced recognition of the lie, "I'm glad you're here. You can tell me more about the boys than dead facts on paper can. Robert Loloma-"

Mr. Mockta did have observations and suggestions, though he had met the boys just before their trip. Jim was telling him that the boys would float between classes for awhile until they and their teachers felt comfortable in their placement when distant shouts from the outside caused him to stand up and pseudo-casually look outdoors towards the bridle path. As a teacher, he never shrugged off any noise out of the ordinary.

His jaw dropped as five horses thundered down the path into Ten Acres. Russet broke free from Mart and did his demented doggy version of herding, exactly the opposite of what anyone would want: He threw himself in the middle of the horses as he barked with joy and nipped at their heels. They scattered. Mart charged after his dog as the boys puffed back down the bridle path, their shouts reduced to intermittent yelps. Attacked again, this time from several sides, the horses scattered further, several thudding through Mart's prepared garden beds and kicking his cold frames to splinters. Mart roared and ran to his wounded crops.

Mr. Mockta had joined him at the window. Jim gave up. He'd never make a good impression on this inspector. Oddly, he felt freer, now that there was no way to make Sleepyside Boys Home seem anything but a madhouse run by the heard the side door open behind him, and he smiled, carefree, at his old friend Dan Mangan, dressed in his policeman's uniform and yawning.

"Who am I today, Jim? Officer Friendly, or does someone need to be scared straight?"

"Mr. Mockta, the Sleepyside Police Department gives us a few hours with Officer Mangan each week, and he's one of our house parents and teachers as well. Dan, Mr. Mockta is from the Hopi Nation, and he's brought us seven new boys today."

Dan nodded a greeting as he joined them at the window. Looking out at the equine-canine-human ballet in full whirl, he pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "I think you most need Horseman Dan at the moment. What happened? Before Mart lost control of his dog as usual."

Jim shrugged. "My guess is Regan wasn't in the stables when the boys arrived, so someone decided to show off, and here we are."

"That would explain why Regan's running down the bridle path at full steam in more ways than one. An officer of the law is definitely needed." Dan was outside in a flash, shouting, "Mart, tie up your dog in the next county!"

Avoiding his guest's eyes, Jim said, "I let my staff handle their problems as much as possible, but just standing outside could help them round up the horses.

Mr. Mockta nodded and went with him. They stood on the east lawn. Jim's eyes widened as Jupe Too, the big black stallion that he usually rode, charged right at them, with Stargazer and Lady Susan close behind him. Jupe Too swerved at the last minute, galloping down the long driveway towards Glen Road, where Tanny, Merry, and Cherry were getting off the school bus. Jupe Too reared and snorted, not wanting to take on the bus, and his followers did the same. Tanny glided toward him. Jim could see her murmuring, too softly for him to hear. Not so, Jupe Too, who shook his head and whickered. The other two horses split off, heading in opposite directions, but the twins, too far away for Jim to tell who was who, approached them with ease. When she'd calmed Jupe Too, Tanny led him back down the driveway. The twins followed with their horses.

"No ballet today?" asked Jim softly, when they were closer.

Tanny shook her head and answered in low, calm tones, "Studio floor is getting refinished this week. I'm going to work on my term papers and my recital costume because it's just too hectic at the end of the year to do it all then."

"Us too," said Merry, or possibly Cherry. Jim was inclined to think Merry, because she usually wore brighter colors, but sometimes they switched clothes, just for twin fun.

"Tanny's the only student allowed to ride Jupe Too," Jim told Mr. Mockta. "For some reason, my father likes big, half-broke horses. Of course, the boys take that as a challenge-one they seldom meet-but no one's ever been hurt."

Dan and Regan had captured the other two horses, and with Mart holding Russet's collar with both hands, enough peace reigned that they could begin the parade back to the stables. Regan told Tanny to go first with Jupe Too so that the other horses would follow. With a ferocious scowl, he told the boys who'd caused the mess to bring up the rear. They trudged away, heads low. Jim foresaw an afternoon of the dirtiest jobs in the stable instead of fishing and resigned himself to mass-produced fish sticks for dinner instead of crisp-fried, fresh-caught catfish.

#

When he turned to mount the steps to the house, he ran into three boys. Ranging in skin tones from light oak to black walnut, they apparently were trying to distance themselves from the horse contingent.

"Mr. Jim, we want to do a project. And take a field trip," said the oldest boy, Carlos Leal. Dajon Dallas, the youngest, handed Jim a report with slides and spreadsheet.

As he sank back behind his desk, Jim explained to Mr. Mockta, "Everyone gets an allowance from the maintenance fees the state gives us. It's hard to learn to manage money if you don't have any. They have other opportunities for them to earn money too." Jim's eyes strayed outside to Martin's destroyed cold frames. He advised the boys, "Ask Mr. Mart if he has anything you can do."

He examined the pages, blinking to make them come in focus, and continued his explanation to his guest. "Of course, we take field trips as a school, like to the opera later in April, but smaller groups can arrange their own trips, if they ask a faculty sponsor and have a plan to earn the money for it. In this case, they've asked my sister to...you're taking Ms Honey to Comic Con?"

The boys nodded with vigor. "She wants to see all the costumes," said Carlos.

Jim schooled his face to a blank expression, he hoped. "Well, that will be...educational."

"She's helping us make our own costumes," said Jason Tremaine, the boy in the middle. "Our designs are at the end of the report. Most of the money is for materials. If we do a good job, she'll get us apprenticeships with Miss Ella Kline to help with her spring and summer dresses."

"Miss Kline makes dresses for proms and weddings. Those are made of silks and satins, not fur and spandex and...other stuff," Jim cautioned after a glance at their designs. "Not usually, anyway. And the girls will already have dates."

"Bridesmaids," said Carlos.

"Sisters," said Jason.

"Friends," said Dajon. "Besides, they could change their minds."

"We want to help them look pretty on their special days," Carlos said in noble accents.

"And remember us afterwards," added Jason, less nobly.

"We're going to practice on Tanny," said Dajon. "She's going to let us make a prom dress for her. That's the last one of our designs."

Jim made a strangled sound that he turned into a cough.

"It's got ruffles," said Carlos.

"She likes it," said Jason.

Jim flipped to the back of their report. Over the years he'd trained his eyebrows not to raise. He handed it to Mr. Mockta, who also kept a straight face.

"It certainly does have ruffles," said Jim, grateful that he'd grown up with a stylish sister and mother. "Compelling. Very forward looking with a nod to tradition."

They beamed. Jim hadn't the energy to go through their spreadsheet numbers. Honey would have already done that, and presumably she knew what she was getting into. He signed the permission forms and shooed the boys out.

He met Mr. Mockta's eyes and said, feeling like he was justifying too much, "The boys get creative about ways to meet girls. My young brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law are good about inviting them to parties and activities, but they're always looking for ways to interact more-as I'm sure I would have done. When Tanny Clark started taking ballet-she named herself after a ballet dancer, Tanaquil LeClerq-some of the boys signed up also. The Iroquois boys said they wanted to improve their pow wow dancing."

Mr. Mockta's smile flickered again. "Perhaps it will. Can you tell me if Tanny is making progress with her life adjustment?"

"Tanny is a good student who takes part in community projects and personal interests, like ballet and horseback riding. She is a leader among her peers and an example to the younger children."

"And yet she's still here, at a boys school for troubled youth."

"Well, Tommy Clark is another matter. When Tommy arrived, he was surly, combative, deeply depressed, and when he could be forced to go to school, his grades and conduct were poor. The family wants Tommy back, and the court expects that also. But her counselor-my sister Honey, who has a bachelor's degree in nursing and a master's in social work-and her physician-my brother-in-law Brian-think it would be devastating, if not fatal, to send Tanny back into a male persona and the environment of abuse that is her home of origin. She will have more options when she's eighteen, less than a year from now."

"But your obligation ends when she turns eighteen."

"Not our moral obligation. Certainly she can finish high school here, and we'll help her on to the next stage of her life. And so far, my parents have welcomed former students into their homes during college breaks and holidays. I suppose we'll have to revisit that when we have more former students than spare bedrooms." He thought he saw judgment on Mockta's nut brown features. "Of course, we want our students to return home, if home is good for them. Rosita has connections in Arizona that she talks to about the Navajo boys, to make sure they can go home as soon as possible. Maybe you would help us with the Hopi. If you're pleased with our work and want to help us support your students."

Jim held his breath. He more than half expected the man to put his students on the next plane back. He knew it was time for him to go into his speech about loving the outdoors and feeling that it could heal young lives, like it had his, which made him feel a connection the First Nations who so valued their connection to the land, but he just didn't have the energy. And he'd already failed. There was no walking that back.

Mr. Mockta looked out the window that showed the front lawn. The campus had fallen quiet, most of the boys inside, working on their studies. The weather hung in a gray, suspended state that could go any direction: a snow storm, heavy rain, or a bright sunny spring day. The silence drove Jim crazy. Sure, Trixie always called him cautious, but he wanted to be doing or planning to do something.

"I had something else in mind," his guest finally said.

Here's where he says we're never seeing another Hopi child, Jim thought. He arranged his expression into pleasant neutrality and vowed to keep it there no matter what he heard, but his insides churned.

Mr. Mockta said, "I was hoping that you'd give me a job."

Jim forgot about his resolution. "Wha-What? A job?"

"Yes. Full time. As a teacher. Counselor. House parent. Cultural guide for the Hopi."

"Of course! Yes! I mean, I have to consult the board, do background checks, look at your resume-but why wouldn't I?"

"Maybe because most of your employees are friends and family working part time."

"And many of them would rather not do so much. What would you want to teach?"

"I have an engineering degree. After two years with a corporation, I came back to the reservation and got an alternative teaching certificate."

"Perfect! Science, math, and, as you said, Hopi culture. Can the Hopi could practice their religion, if they want? At least learn about it?"

Jim flipped through pages of his desk calendar. "Yes, and each religion practiced here is allotted a month to teach the rest of the school about it, and we observe everyone's major festivals. We've celebrated six New Years so far. This month belongs to the Oneida, with the Maple festival at the end of the month. The Hopi are scheduled for May. Is that appropriate, Mr. Mockta? The two Hopi who are already here will be glad for the reinforcements."

"My name is Al." He smiled. "Short for, or disguising, Alo, my Hopi name. There's a festival every month. So May will be acceptable for this year, though next year I'd like to have February, which is very important to us. That's why we arrived so late. I petitioned to take the boys through the Powamuya ceremony, when they join the community as adults." He paused. "I used as justification your requirement that all Natives go through their nation's healing ceremonies before coming to the school. We did the individual ceremonies as well. If you thought the bills were higher than usual, that must be the explanation."

"I'm glad you did. I didn't notice the bills, though. My sister Honey-our counselor, nurse, science teacher-"

"And seamstress."

"Yes, and many other things. When we first began, she noticed that the Navajos who had gone through their healing ceremonies adjusted much better than those who didn't. Usually the reasons for not having one were money or a falling away from the old ways. So we require it for all Nations, and she uses her trust fund when necessary. We count it money well spent, and far cheaper than a full workup in a Western hospital."

"That was what made me think I might want to be of service here. No one had ever heard of white people paying for Native ceremonies that didn't involve tourism. And I see you are caring for the elderly and your own children in the community, the way they would live in their native lands. But so many of the court-ordered options involved isolating them from everyone except minders and other boys in trouble. I cannot think that wise."

"I'm glad it impressed you, but if I never have to bring my children to work again, it will be too soon." Jim grinned in relief. "But Mr. Maypenny and Mrs. Vanderpoel provide valuable teaching for the boys. He was my father's game keeper for many years, and she's an excellent cook. And they both love the boys. So it's not all charity. Everyone has something to offer."

"Including your daughter, who pronounces the Hopi language so well." The corners of his mouth turned up higher than they'd been all day. "But I must ask if anyone ever claims to follow the Flying Spaghetti Monster?"

Jim laughed. "Yes, but the prospect of leading a month of daily prayers, history lessons, and putting on a festival so far has deterred anyone from pressing too hard. Look, of course, we have to do the bureaucratic dance, but would you like to start right away? As a guest teacher? I see my parents' estate manager coming across the lawn now on her way to coach a math class. She's one of the ones who would like to cut back."

#

After delivering his newest teacher into Miss Trask's hands, Jim staggered back to his office. A stack of work glared up at him from his desk. He covered it with his hands and laid his head down. He was glad he wasn't scheduled for dinner and evening closing. Usually he went whether scheduled or not, but his brain was whirling, and he expected his mother to return the children at any moment.

Here he'd spent the whole day in dread of a bad report, and the inspector wanted to join the team instead. He knew he should be thrilled-and somewhere deep in the glop of memories and emotions that he called his soul, he was thrilled-but the anxiety didn't just vanish because the cause of it dissolved. Maybe he should take a walk to the lake. Or the stables. But his mother might return. He could just fall asleep here. Or do some work. Process the new boys' files. Actually study the Comic Con proposal and check with Honey about her understanding of the event, check with Tanny about whether she wanted to wear a prom dress with a two-foot stiff ruffled collar that stuck up and out like something out of a science fiction movie. And he supposed, being the nearest thing Tanny had to a father, that he'd better check out her prom date.

He sighed. "I just want normal back."

A chuckle came from the doorway, startling him. He hadn't heard the front door open. He looked up into the twinkling blue eyes of his wife.

"Oh, Jim, you left normal behind when you decided to run a boys' school, way back when we were teenagers."

"I thought I'd be providing them safety and structure. But every day gets wilder. Every day throws me something new, something I never expected, despite all my preparations and education."

Trixie sat on his desk and ruffled his red hair. "Yes, it's called life. You could regiment this place, no exceptions for anything or anybody, but you get involved with every kid, every teacher, and try to do what's best for each person; so of course things get wild. I wouldn't love you if you didn't."

As she put her arms around his neck, he pulled her into his lap, awkwardly over the chair arms, but being close was more important than being comfortable. After some time just short of forever, he mumbled, "What are you doing here? What about Moms?"

"If Peter Belden doesn't know how to take care of his wife and two childen by now, it's time he learned."

Jim sat up straight, bumping Trixie into the desk. "How did you end up with the kids?"

Trixie giggled. "Your mother came by for a sympathy visit. She brought dinner from the deli, and a bouquet of flowers for Julie to give Moms. And she, of course, asked for the kids to stay. Win's asleep already, and Julie and Moms are watching Rainbow Brite. Julie's promised to go to bed afterwards, right when Grandma or Grandpa says, if I'm not back yet."

"You have to go back?" His arms tightened around her.

"Yes. I should be there if the kids wake up in the night. Win will, you know. "

"You're right." Jim tried not to sound too disappointed. Kids first, after all. He'd based his whole life on that concept. Adults should be adults.

"But I came home to have dinner with you. I have a picnic basket with leftovers from the deli feast and a nice bottle of-"

Jim's kiss cut off any more time-wasting talk.


End file.
